


Indigo

by lamagicienne



Series: Shades of Blue [3]
Category: Olympics RPF, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rivalry, Slow Build, Unrequited, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamagicienne/pseuds/lamagicienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming home, Michael checks his phone to see that he has a call from Megan and none from Ryan – a short list that contains the absurdist drama of the last months.</p><p>Shades of Blue series, part III (Tyler Clary/Michael Phelps, Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

I

Baltimore in November is a sad affair. Not even Michael – who is glad to finally spend some days in his home town after travelling back and forth between three continents this fall – can testify to the contrary. On the way home from his sister’s house after Thanksgiving dinner, thick gushes of rain-water are almost blocking his view of the street before him. It befits this day, Michael decides, which could be characterized by how Whitney described it to her offspring when they were distraught by the anxious faces all around:  “Your grandfather Fred is very sick and somehow forgot to tell us about it.”

Michael snorts. More like their old man didn’t have the heart to contact his only son (who coincidentally calls a fortune in the three-digit million dollar range his own) about the therapy bills, until said therapy was actually about to be cancelled due to lack of funding. And even then it wasn’t Fred himself who called but the woman his three children still refer to as his “new” wife.   _Did he think I was going to refuse to help him out or what?_ Their relationship could never get _that_ bad.

It’s kind of self-evident to Michael to give something back to the people who got him where he is today. That goes for promoting swimming and water-safety via his foundation – and even more so for taking care of his family. That includes his father. They may not see each other very often – and when they do, they don’t have a lot to say to each other– but that doesn’t mean Michael avoids responsibility if it comes to the worst.

And bronchial cancer has a pretty bad ring to it as it is.

Coming home, Michael checks his phone to see that he has a call from Megan and none from Ryan – a short list that contains the absurdist drama of the last months. He briefly thinks of calling back his girlfriend, but decides to put that off until later. He doesn’t feel like telling her about his father and as a result, has to think of a way to describe Thanksgiving at Whitney’s in a way that leaves out the most important part and still makes sense.  

In less than twenty-four hours he’s flying to LA anyway, for the last Golden Goggle awards of his career. Those past weeks, he was in Rio, then in Scotland for golfing. Retired or not, he can’t say that they’ve been seeing a lot of each other lately. That’s okay, actually, as far as he is concerned.  But all of a sudden it occurs to him that the long-distance thing isn’t exactly helping when it comes to establishing the kind of relationship that makes you want to pour your heart out to the other person.

Then again, his friendship with Ryan also started out as a kind of long-distance thing after Athens, with text messages and phone calls covering thousands of miles. Michael isn’t sure how long it took them to convert their Olympic bonding experience into a real friendship. But they became very close, although – or maybe, because – there wasn’t a kind of plan attached as to how they should further develop. In fact, there is nothing Michael would rather do now than call _him_ and tell him what’s going on with his father.

He doesn’t, of course.

As it is, they haven’t spoken in over two months – breaking the record for the longest radio silence in the history of their friendship. Michael is still not sure how exactly that happened, but one thing is for certain: it’s Ryan’s turn to reach out to him and not the other way round.

Michael’s done his share with calls and texts that remained unanswered over the first couple of months after the Olympics. At some point, he decided to leave it be and just accept that their friendship had changed. Ryan’s busy with sponsors and the media and advertisement contracts. It’s not like Michael doesn’t understand what’s going on in Ryan’s life right now. He went through similar experiences in the wake of the Beijing Olympics, neglecting a lot of people himself in the process. But as far as his friendship with Ryan is concerned, there’s much more to it, actually.

Ryan’s disappointed in himself. London didn’t turn out the way he wanted it to and he’s not getting over it. He feels like a failure for having an “average meet” when what he’d been hoping to achieve was something similar to what Michael did in Beijing. 

Usually, Ryan would come to him with things that distress him – and vice versa.  There wouldn’t be a lot of words, no extended declarations of how they feel. They’d just hang out or talk on the phone about random stuff and it’d be like putting things into perspective or something. And now Ryan’s in a kind of personal crisis and he can’t do what he usually would because Michael is somewhat the cause for his distress – or at least, he’s right at the center of it.

That’s a new thing for them and it doesn’t sit well with Michael. Not a bit. They _confide_ in each other, for fuck’s sake. For years, Ryan would always tell Michael everything – to the point where Michael found himself shaken awake in the middle of the last night during World Championships in Melbourne because Ryan had a bunch of TMI to share.

_“Ugh.”_

_“Come on, Mikey. Wake up!”_

_“’gerroff!”_

_“But I gotta tell you something.”_

_Michael flops to his other side with an unwilling grunt, facing away from Ryan who is currently kneeling on the floor beside his bed. It’s well past two a.m., he learns by a glance at his alarm clock.  At least, they’re done swimming. If Michael had another race coming up, he’d be helping Ryan over the balustrade of the balcony now. So he just rolls back onto his stomach with the sigh of the long-suffering, puts his cheek on his arm and turns his gaze to his best friend who is wearing an expression that can only be described as radiant. There’s a hint of unholy triumph to it. Michael narrows his eyes. “What’d you do now?”_

_The grin on Ryan’s face widens. All right. “Or whom,” Michael specifies, not sure if he really wants to know the answer. They were at a party earlier tonight with some of their teammates and several of the Aussie swimmers. When Michael decided to call it a night, Ryan was hanging around with Rice and Sullivan. And the look on Ryan’s face seems to imply that Michael should be able to figure it out by himself._

_"You can’t be serious. They’re a_ couple _, Ry.”_

 _Ryan just stretches languidly before he lets himself fall onto his own bed and props himself up on his elbows. His shirt slips up to expose a streak of tanned skin. He shrugs with a lopsided grin as if to say:_ Well, look at me.

 _“You just don’t_ do _that,” Michael insists, trying not to laugh. “Well, don’t come running to me when Sullivan’s going after you with a horse-whip.”_

_“He won’t.”_

_“Like, he’s cool with you macking on his girlfriend?”_

_“I didn’t say anything about his girlfriend.”_

_They stare at each other while Michael’s sleepy brain tries to catch up with this information. Later he kind of marvels at the well-wrought settings of this coming-out: Michael’s not fully awake, doesn’t process what was said as quickly as he usually would, ponders for a moment if he just misunderstood something. But he didn’t. Ryan said indeed what he just thought he said._

_So, Sullivan… That makes sense, actually, Michael understands. The Aussie has as much to lose as Ryan if this came to light – more in fact. Sullivan’s black-haired teammate doesn’t seem the type of woman who’d turn a blind eye to her boyfriend getting it on with a guy._

_“We cool?” The shyness of that question strikingly contrasts Ryan’s earlier bravado._

_Michael turns to face him. “That means I’ll have to listen to the sordid details not only about your girls but about the guys as well?” Before Ryan can give the answer they both know already, the next question pops up in his sleep-deprived brain, blustering out before he can stop himself. “You never think of – you don’t have a thing for me, do you?”_

_There’s a strange glint to Ryan’s eyes. “Not full of yourself at all, Phelps, are you?”_

_Now it’s Michael’s turn to look a little bit sheepish. He didn’t honestly expect a yes. The whole best friends thing aside, his dorky, inexperienced ass certainly isn’t what Ryan would be going for in a bedmate. Seriously, Ryan comes out to him and the first thing he can think of is whether he’s been lusting after Michael in secret. “Yeah, we’re cool.”_

_Ryan gives him a soft smile. “Sorry to blurt it out like this. Right now, I’m just – first time I went, like, all the way, you know.”_

_“Ry”, Michael groans, fully aware that what he’s going to say won’t make an impression. It never has before, after all. “I really don’t want to know –“_

_“Yes, you want to.” Ryan’s eyes are full of mischief. “Might come in handy one day, MP, you never know.”_

_By throwing his pillow at Ryan, Michael realizes a second too late, he’s merely robbed himself of the chance to lie down comfortably and go back to sleep._

That’s how it used to be between them, Michael thinks with a pang of regret. There wasn’t the shadow of a doubt in Ryan’s mind that he could tell Michael about his broadened specter of romantic conquests, that Michael wouldn’t give him any shit about it and not treat him any different than before. What’s more, there wasn’t a tad of awkwardness between them afterwards. So Ryan’s bi. So what. A lot of men would freak out at the idea of being best friends with a guy who likes guys, Michael figures, but for some reason it never bothered him.

 _And how did you repay him,_ a tiny voice in the back of his mind starts nagging. _By keeping your girlfriend a secret from him over months, wasn’t it so?_

There was one pretty good opportunity to tell Ryan about the new woman in his life, but Michael let that slip. It was in Vichy, a couple of nights before they were scheduled to fly to London. Michael doesn’t remember exactly how the topic came up, but somehow they started speaking about Matt and Annie, moving on to Ricky and Rebecca and some other couples they knew and what presumably attracted them to one another. Subsequently, the conversation moved to things they themselves found attractive in other people and how rarely all these features could actually be found assembled in one and the same person.

Then, out of nowhere, Ryan confessed that he had seen “the real thing” only once, but after meeting that someone nobody else could compare.

_The conversation has been light-hearted up to now, but the suddenly serious undertone of Ryan’s voice prompts Michael to look up from the shoelaces he’s been idly playing with. “Who?” he asks. “I wasn’t aware you’ve a girlfriend at the moment. Or is it a boyfriend?”_

_Ryan winces. “Neither. I just – we’re not together. I just see them from time to time and we hang out.”_

_That makes sense actually. Unlike Michael, Ryan has been so dedicated to swimming those last years. It was almost as if they’d switched places after Beijing. He probably forbade himself to ask out this mysterious love interest of his, so he wouldn’t be distracted from his goals by a new relationship.  “So you’re waiting until after London?” Michael suggests._

_“No.” The answer is very short and very definite. “It’s got nothing to do with swimming. I’m just not what they’d be interested in.”_

_Michael gives his friend a quick once-over. Okay, so he probably isn’t the best to judge because they’ve known each other for ages and are really close, but how anyone – male or female – who likes guys can’t be interested in Ryan goes over his head. “What gives you that idea?”_

_Ryan shrugs. “I’ve known them for ages and – I’m just not.”_

_“So what would a guy need for them to be interested… that you don’t have?” Michael raises a brow. “Two dicks?”_

_Ryan snorts. “Not fucking likely.”_

_In the past, Ryan usually made a point of telling Michael about what was going on in his life and with whom – but never about any feelings involved. Michael always attributed that to there not being any, period. Now he considers for the first time that he was mistaken. That he might not know his friend as thoroughly as he always believed. What Ryan just told him implies that he never developed a romantic affection for any of the girls and guys he interchangeably hooked up with, because there was someone else all along. Someone he never told Michael about._

_A second or two pass before he can identify the feeling rising inside him as jealousy. It’s not so much directed at the fact that he has to share his best friend with some anonymous person. Part of growing up is that you have to share friends and siblings with their significant others. You can’t stay a child forever – or expect that everyone else also does. Also, whoever they are, Ryan has made it clear that he’s not with them and – for whatever inexplicable reasons – they don’t want to be with him._

_Means Michael won’t have to share him any time soon._

_Immediately, he dismisses that thought as selfish and unworthy. Ryan’s his best friend. He cares about him and wants to see him happy.  Still, there is something that stings about the idea of Ryan being seriously infatuated with someone. Michael realizes that he’s jealous of Ryan knowing the feeling when he himself doesn’t._

_There’s a place in his soul that remains untouched. None of his previous girlfriends ever got there and Megan won’t either, he can tell this much already. It can’t be helped, Michael thinks. Not everybody is capable of falling in love. He’s aware that his own ability to form relationships is limited – maybe being surrounded by singles as he grew up did that to him. By and large, Michael is fine with that, but seeing other people experience it – especially people close to him – makes him feel somewhat inadequate in the emotional department._

And that’s why it was just plain impossible to bring up Megan in that context. Even though he’s never met Ryan’s love interest, it’s beyond dispute that his own feelings for Megan don’t come anywhere near this. So he didn’t spill the beans when he had the chance to. Instead he presented Ryan with his new relationship status a couple of weeks later without giving him even the smallest heads-up.

On the other hand, Michael kind of doesn’t see how he’s supposed to have a bad conscience about keeping the whole Megan thing a secret, when Ryan didn’t deem it necessary to tell him about his longtime infatuation with someone whom he never even deigned to identify. Maybe these were all signs of a breach opening between them and Michael just didn’t realize it until after London.

Which also made it impossible to ask Ryan about the weird tête-à-tête Michael witnessed at the Speedo party almost four months ago. For some reason, Michael shies from asking Megan before he’s spoken to Ryan. So he’s none the wiser.   

In the beginning, it was driving him crazy. He cannot figure out for the life of him what it means that he saw that night. But as time went by, the Speedo party became less and less important in view of the fact that Ryan practically set their contact to zero. He hasn’t forgotten about it, though.

Maybe seeing them both at the Golden Goggles will give him some clues, Michael thinks and throws a travel bag for LA onto the bed.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean I could talk of nothing but him?

II

Repeatedly taking two steps at once, Tyler climbs the stairs in his parents’ house in Riverside that lead to his old room. After he moved out to go to Michigan, it’s become a kind of hobby room where his mother stores her ironing board and his younger siblings like to hang out in. He doesn’t recognize the smell, though, until he opens the door and catches a full whiff of it.

Lindsey chokes and sits up on the couch, joint in hand. She glares at him. “Don’t you knock?”

Tyler laughs. That’s a reckless move even for his sister.

Her eyes dart towards the door. “They back?”

“With enough food to serve a football team, yeah.”  

He takes a seat next to her. As usually, when they haven’t seen each other for a few months, he’s surprised by the changes he can detect in his baby sister. She’s turning seventeen soon, getting prettier every time he turns his back to her, Tyler thinks. With her cutoff jeans, tiny tank top and dangling earrings underneath shiny hair that falls to the mid of her back, she has the stylish, rebellious teenager perfected to a T.  

“You may want to admit fresh air, you know,” he suggests with a nod to the window.   

She shrugs, knowing very well that their parents are busy downstairs in the kitchen with the dinner preparations, and offers him the joint.

“Competitions,” Tyler shakes his head. Lindsey doesn’t have to worry about that so much – high school swimming isn’t monitored as scrutinizingly as they do on an Olympic level. But either way, the two of them high at the dinner table when their grandparents are coming over is probably not a great idea. Lindsey smirks and stubs out the joint on the couch table.

“You’re making that a habit now?” Tyler asks, trying not to sound like a pharisee. There’s just so much he isn’t in the loop about anymore when it comes to his younger siblings.

“Oh, like you professionals have any reputation left,” she retaliates.

Probably not, Tyler thinks as he gets up to open the window himself. Phelps has pretty much taken care of that. Lindsey got to see her brother flush a whole lot of perfectly good weed down the toilet back in 2009, when half the swimming community was getting rid of their shit and pushing needles into small Phelps puppets (lacking the identity of the mofo who ratted on him). 

Figures that people instead of damning him for it would say things like “Good for him. About time he gets to do something besides counting tiles.” Hah. 

Involuntarily rolling his eyes at the memory, Tyler’s gaze falls on what else is on the table. _Blue earrings, straightener, mascara_ , he deciphers in his sister’s unruly handwriting. He suppresses a smile, but Lindsey notices his effort anyway. “Excited?” he grins.

“Expectant,” Lindsey shrugs, but she doesn’t fool him. The Golden Goggles are a huge deal to her. Carol tipped him off weeks ago when the nominations got out that Lindsey would be “ecstatic” if he brought her along for the event. When he suggested this to Lindsey, she could indeed barely control her eagerness – but only someone who knows her very well would have perceived this. She had regarded her nails as if there was something really fascinating about them and let him practically talk her into it by counting off the people she could meet there, his fellow Olympians. The memory of her flaunting indifference makes him smile.  

She’s smiling, too. “It’s cool to get to dress up, you know. You win one of those awards, the better.”

“Yeah,” Tyler breathes. That’s been on his mind a lot, lately. He’s nominated for two of them so technically, his chances are not even that small. The perseverance award he’d be most deserving of, Tyler feels – but so are a lot of other people on the team. The race of the year award, awesome as the 200 back had been, probably goes to Adrian.

“Keeping my fingers crossed,” Lindsey says.

Their eyes meet. Technically, they share only fifty percent of their genes, but it’s never mattered much to either of them. Tyler in particular has been enamored with the idea of being an older brother ever since the tender age of six when Lindsey was born. Swimming created a unique bond between the two of them, one they share with no other member of the family. Tyler is very much aware of how his Olympic success spurs her in her own training.   

All of a sudden, he wonders why he never took her to the Golden Goggle awards before.

Tyler clears his throat. “I’ll see if I can make myself useful in the kitchen,” he says.  

Lindsey slightly shakes her head. Since she’s still living at home, she can’t appreciate spending time with their parents the way he can – and helping with household chores is certainly not her idea of a good time. He, too, used to take home-made meals for granted until he moved out. Now he enjoys not only having them but also help his mother prepare them.  

Tyler gets up and ruffles her hair before heading towards the door, laughing at her indignant mutter that follows him as he steps back down the stairs. His way towards the kitchen leads Tyler through the extensive living-room with the flat screen and adjoining sitting area.

It was here he watched the swimming competitions of the Beijing Olympics. His whole family was assembled in this room in front of the TV for eight consecutive evenings in August 2008. Lindsey and Lonzo would ask what felt about a thousand Michael-related questions, completely in awe by the fact that their older brother knew Phelps in person – and completely oblivious to how much Tyler could have done without that particular acquaintance. _What’s he like? What’s his major? What music does he listen to? (Lonzo) Does he have a girlfriend? (Lindsey)_

If his parents ever noticed how conflicted he was talking about Michael and whether he should wish Michael success in his historic quest or not, they never let it on. Or maybe they ascribed his reluctance to his disappointment of not being there with his other Club Wolverine team mates. In later years, Tyler sometimes hinted at his complicated relationship with Phelps, but that summer when the entire nation was in love with Michael, Tyler couldn’t really put a finger onto his own dislike.   

And he didn’t foresee yet how that small grain of resentment he picked up during training in Ann Arbor would develop into a fully-fledged grudge that ran deep enough to endure until even now that Michael isn’t swimming any longer.   

At times, Tyler was under the impression that he was watching it happen to someone else entirely. Like he didn’t actually know this person who walked out on the deck in Beijing and slid into the water with that effortless grace of his – and thus was able to see both his difficult training partner and the otherworldly water-creature the rest of the nation perceived.  

The brutal exhaustion on his face after the 200 IM.

The wild joy he revealed after the one hundredth of a second finish in the 100 fly.

The clarity of his eyes when he raised his arms above his head in victory after the medley relay.

And the quickly suppressed tears on the medal stand after his very first gold in that Olympics. Later Tyler heard Michael say that in that moment he thought back to the difficulties he experienced during the last fall before Beijing. It made Tyler’s thoughts race back in time to an October day in 2007, to the first glaze of the winter and the first time ever he saw Michael – intense, standoffish, self-sufficient Michael – lose his countenance.  

_Michael’s six feet two frame is crouched at the table in Jon’s office when Tyler steps over the threshold and freezes at the sight of them. Unsure about what he just stepped in on, Tyler just stays where he is and watches this rare display of weakness on Michael’s part._

_“I can’t do it.” There’s distress in the familiar voice with the slight lisp like Tyler has never heard it there before. Jon leans a bit towards Michael and says something Tyler can’t hear properly._

_Michael just shakes his head in reply and runs one of his long-fingered hands over his face. The other one is resting on the table before him, held still like one would something fragile._

_“Please call him.” Michael sounds close to tears. “I can’t tell him myself.”_

_Jon briefly touches his arm and gets up from his chair without another word._

_“Him” refers to Bob Bowman who is out of town this week, Tyler figures. What could be so awful that Michael doesn’t trust himself to speak to his coach in person about?_

_Tyler sees Michael close his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, they promptly fall on Tyler who becomes aware that what he just did by standing there, watching could be perceived as eavesdropping. But Michael doesn’t seem irritated, just surprised as he takes him in. Like you would a new face._

_Within the split of a second, Tyler realizes that’s what he is to Phelps. They’ve passed each other on the corridors and on deck from time to time, Michael usually completely engrossed in his own thoughts._

_Then Jon is back, handing the phone to Michael and nodding at him in silent encouragement. He steps away from the desk when Michael mutters a greeting to Bowman on the other end of the line and turns towards Tyler, ushering him out of the room as if he’d been aware of him all the time._

_“I guess I can tell you just as well,” Jon murmurs. And so Tyler hears of how Michael slipped on ice earlier that day and cracked a bone in his wrist. He’ll need surgery, the doctors said. Beijing is 299 days away._

Tyler shakes his head at his thoughts running away with him like this. It’s the Golden Goggles approaching, he muses. His whole life, it’s never been difficult for him to get along with his fellow swimmers, but what happened in July has made him kind of self-conscious underneath. Now, reporters will ask him questions about Michael in interviews – not even suggestive questions, but there is always a hint of something there. Something that makes him wonder if he’ll ever be more than just the swimmer who trash-talked Michael Phelps when he least needed it.

It’s incomprehensible even to Tyler himself. He won Olympic gold. The kids at Club Wolverine literally look up to him. He’s in control of his life, doing what he loves most, the person he loves most right by his side. This is definitely not the time to develop a need to second-guess himself all the time.

Not that anyone would notice, Tyler thinks on his way towards the kitchen from where he can hear the muffled voices of his mother and grandmother. They were all on his side after the interview came out. When only a small percentage of his teammates would talk to him while they were in Knoxville, Tyler would pick up the phone and call his relatives. But even they aren’t aware of the change in him.

“ – also means Michael Phelps will be there. Of course, he won’t say a thing but it’s never been easy for Tyler to come face to face with him.”    

He stops right behind the door.    

“His coach told me that he wanted them to talk things over when they were in Tennessee, but that didn’t go so well, he said.” Stacey Clary hands a glass of pickled pumpkin she failed to get open to her ex-mother-in-law.

  _Seriously, Jon?_ Tyler thinks.

“If you ask me, they just claimed that everything was well again”, his mother continues. “But they weren’t on the best of terms even before this whole mess started, so I don’t see what could’ve changed. I guess you could say it doesn’t matter now with Michael retired and everything, but…”

 For a moment, nothing can be heard but the sound of a knife edge on a wooden board. Tyler considers just walking into the kitchen now. If there is more to this conversation he isn’t sure he actually wants to hear it. For some reason he waits out the silence, though.

“You know, I still remember how Tyler came home for Thanksgiving during his freshman year,” he hears his grandmother say. “He could talk of nothing but this boy.”

Michael is like a ghost in this house, Tyler muses, ever-present, not just in his own head. The others also keep coming back to him in their conversations even when Tyler isn’t present. Hang on… _What do you mean I could talk of nothing but him?_

“I remember”, his mother agrees. “I believe it was kind of hard for him that Michael has always been so aloof. Tyler much rather would have been friends with him, I’m sure.”

“What’s the problem anyway? Most people like your son just fine. Why is this Phelps character such an exception?”  

“They say _he_ can be difficult. I mean, just because someone has a good public imagine, it doesn’t mean they’re also a likable person, right? ”

“Well, there must be something to him if Tyler cares about him like that.”

“You make that sound like –“

“I’m just saying it’s important to Tyler what he thinks.”

That’s bullshit, Tyler thinks and winces at crediting his grandmother’s words with an expletive. But seriously… like hell he cares about what Phelps is thinking. If he IS thinking, that is. Anyway, it’s worse than he thought when even his family starts philosophizing about what exactly is the problem with him and Michael.

“I agree,” Stacey Clary breathes softly. “He gets along fine with Ryan Lochte and all the others, but it’s Michael’s opinion that matters much more to him.”

Tyler draws a deep breath and decides not to say anything when he enters the kitchen in about five seconds and ask if he can help them. Just one more thing. Just these Golden Goggle awards to get over with and Monday will be the first day of a Michael-free future.


	3. Three

III

What they are doing is ridiculous.

There have been Golden Goggle Awards over the years of Michael’s swimming career that he wasn’t keen to attend, to put it politely. In 2007, for example, when he’d injured his right hand and recent surgery was taking its toll during practice – that was one pretty horrific evening, Michael remembers. None of the other swimmers attending knew of his recent problems and ascribed his fowl mood to a general attitude problem. Michael overheard a lot of snide remarks that night, some of which he was probably meant to hear, about just how much of a primadonna one must be to vent one’s mood on others like this.

Ryan was his saving grace, though. He stuck by Michael’s side, distracting him from his worries as best as he was able to and in doing so elicited the few smiles that Michael didn’t have to fake.    

Not so tonight. Michael got here with a stomach full of acid due to a mixture of resentment and fluttering nerves. The awards brought them face to face with each other for the first time in weeks. Ryan actually has the nerve to smile at him. And Michael looks him right in the eye and keeps walking, Megan on his arm. Thinking with the vigor of a thousand times wondering what he could’ve done wrong breaking through, _Fuck yourself, you fucking fuck, you really think it’s that easy?_ as he watches that smile fade away to nothing.

This stunt earns him a sharp intake of breath from his girlfriend (who was not impressed at having to take the side entrance after she spent hours and hours picking her dress for the occasion) and a sinister glance from Cullen who is standing right next to Ryan.

Michael defiantly stares back. _He_ is the one with a bucket load of unanswered texts and calls. He didn’t do anything to deserve the silent treatment – apart from winning the 200 IM and, like, existing. He can’t just shake off the last few months and act like everything’s cool, even if he wanted to. Especially not when he can’t be sure if Ryan just wants everything to look nice and smooth in front of the assembled press. Just like he’s not sure whether Ryan brought the girl hanging off his arm for PR-reasons or if he actually has something going on with her.

(Unlikely that she is the one Ryan was talking about in France, Michael muses absentmindedly. Ryan wouldn’t bring the mysterious person very much not interested in him here like this. Plus, he still doesn’t even know the gender of Ryan’s love interest.)   

In the weeks leading up to these awards, Michael felt interchangeably frustrated and depressed with the current status of their friendship, but he certainly didn’t count on wanting to punch Ryan’s face at first glance. The intensity of his anger surprises him, even though he’s sure he manages to keep it inside. That alone makes these Golden Goggles different from all others he had to attend because seeing Ryan there always was the one thing Michael unconditionally looked forward to.

What stays the same is Michael fiercely wishing they’ll be over soon, even though it’s the first time in years that he wins something. After they proclaimed him the greatest Olympian of all times (like that title can be handed out to anyone, seriously, Michael thinks), it would have been kind of shocking even to him if at home, they hadn’t made him the male swimmer of the year as well. If anyone is taken aback that he doesn’t mention Ryan in his acceptance speech with as much as a syllable, they don’t say it to his face. Even though they probably are.

Just like they probably wonder how the two of them are faring inside while they make a point of not speaking, not even looking at each other. It’s a complicated dance, avoiding each other like this in a relatively small, crowded space. Predictably, Ryan ends up being the one who gets around from group to group and Michael finds himself a niche where he stays for most of the night. Thank god for Allie, he finds himself thinking sometime around midnight in the middle of a story about Chase having to endure Georgia freshman rituals. “You should come, too, when you’re ready,” she suddenly says.

Michael frowns. Come to Georgia? “What for?”

“Coaching. Georgia rocks, Mikey, seriously. What do you want in Michigan? You always hated it there. What’s worse, everybody knows you hated it there.”

“How do you –“

“What, like that’s a secret? Whenever something bores the shit out of you, you still say it’s like Ann Arbor downtown on a Sunday afternoon.”

“No, the coaching thing. How did you hear about that?”

“Bob,” is the simple answer. “He doesn’t know why you’d want to go back either, by the way.”

“I’m really glad my career offerings give you guys something to talk about, but can you please not tell anyone else? Also, I’m not quitting swimming to go on hanging around a pool every waking hour. At least, not at once.”

“And not in Michigan,” Allie emphasizes, leaving Michael to shake his head about her hating on the state she group up in like this. “I mean, can you even golf there? Not to mention that your whole sworn fanclub lives in Ann   Arbor. Tyler would be so pleased if he could go on obsessing about you from a close distance. I’m sure he’s missing you already.”

Jesus, is that one also making the round? Groaning inwardly, Michael can’t help but cast a quick look towards where Clary is standing, taking snapshots with the rest of the ex-Wolverine crew. Minus Michael, obviously. But then, whether he really counts as a Wolverine or not has been a source of much debate in the past (and there is little doubt about Clary’s view on things).

Then somebody whistles Clary over to another group that includes Ryan along with Matt, Nathan and Ricky. They’re laughing and pulling faces for the little Nikon Cullen is taking photos with. All the individual male champions of the last Olympics. Well, minus Michael.  

“Brendan tell you that?” he asks, looking for a scapegoat.

“He might have mentioned something,” Allie smiles, her sparkling eyes betraying that she’s not being completely serious here. “I can’t believe I never guessed something back when we were all training together! A typical case of when the wrong one loves you right, isn’t it?”

“More a typical case of my teammates getting carried away.”

“Ex-teammates, grandpa Mike.” She shoots Megan a look and bursts out laughing. “And your poor girlfriend is just wondering what she’s gotten herself into.”

“You don’t know half of it,” Megan replies in a dry tone. “Ann Arbor, huh?” she prompts when they step out onto the terrace shortly afterwards.

Michael makes a dismissive gesture. “Just an idea. But winters in Michigan? I don’t think so.” This is actually not how he wanted to tell her. On the other hand, she wasn’t even in the picture when Jon was first suggesting this coaching assistantship. It would be a good moment now to bring up Cali, to suggest something in vicinity of LA and hint at moving together at some point. He lets it slip. 

“Hey.” Her hand comes to rest on his cheek and gently guides his face towards her. “You’ve been kind of gloomy all evening.”

With a pang of bad conscience, Michael thinks how pretty she looks tonight – and how much of a failure he is as a boyfriend not to notice earlier, not to pay her enough attention and make her take the side entrance when he knows just how important having pictures taken is for her.

“What’s on your mind?” she asks softly and tilts her head sideways. “Tell me.”

Her eyes are very kind, asking him to open up to her just like her words are. Maybe that’s what prompts him to actually say what he’s been thinking of without considering the reaction this might cause: “Just that… my friendship with Ryan seems pretty much down the drain and he doesn’t give a fuck and I don’t know what to do about it.”

The second he mentions Ryan it’s as if a curtain goes down in front of Megan’s face. She averts her gaze from him as if she’s received a blow and needs to figure out how to best deal with it. But while Michael still thinks of how to change the topic quickly, she decides she actually wants to pursue it.

“You’re very convinced he wants to be your _friend_.”

Michael looks up. “What?”

There’s a hint of impatience to her voice now. “Well, maybe you were mistaken about him all along. Maybe it’s not what he wants.”

It takes a while for the words to sink truly in, but when they do, he stares at her as if seeing her for the first time. Megan drops her gaze, as if embarrassed by her outburst. Behind that smooth-skinned forehead of hers, Michael can see the wheels turning as to how she’s going to fix that one. It makes him wonder how much of a front she usually puts up when dealing with him, for fear of losing him and thereby losing the limelight.

And this is what she really thinks, it just slipped out.

The worst thing about it is that she might be completely right. Michael, too, has been wondering about this recently: if it’s possible for two people to be thrown at each other by their sport, their status as public figures to the point where they lose perception of what’s a media sham and what’s an actual friendship. But right now something else takes precedence: his woman apparently doesn’t deem him capable of extracting true feelings of friendship from somebody. Or anybody maybe. It makes him wonder how she would categorize her own feelings in that area if he asked her to.

A dry laugh escapes him. “Yeah, maybe I was mistaken.”  

“I didn’t –“ Megan starts, but fails to find the right words to erase her lapse from earlier. She knows she screwed up. Worry, a strange kind of exhaustion makes her look older than her twenty-five years even in the gentle light of the terrace.

“I’ll be right back,” Michael murmurs and – when she calls out to him in an ever so slightly forlorn voice – promptly proves himself perfectly capable of keeping up facades by reassuring her. He even goes as far as kissing her on the forehead. It makes him wonder if there are any true feelings displayed anywhere tonight.  

He used to be so sure of Ryan, trusted in his affection – basked in it would be more accurate. Ever since the summer of 2004, he never really stopped marveling at how he got himself a best friend that funny, laid-back and popular. Images from this past rise before his eyes as he makes his way to the thankfully largely deserted corridors to the restrooms: Ryan in Greece, laughing under the Mediterranean sun; flopping down next to him on the living-room floor of his Gainesville apartment; asleep in their hotel room in Shanghai, palm resting against his forehead, the long fingers buried in his curls; blindly catching Michael’s equally blindly extended hand as they watch Nathan claim his first individual Olympic gold.

The bathroom is blessedly empty so Michael just leans backwards against the wall and lets his head sink back against the cool tiles. Maybe he’s fooling himself even now by thinking that Ryan gives a fuck. It’s more likely that he’s moved on with his life and his career, believing perhaps that he is better off being the sole face of US swimming and in doing so has to cut all ties with Michael.

His anger from earlier that evening is gone. He feels kind of drained. Only now he truly realizes how much he’d made Ryan a keystone of his life, his future. The thought that this is all over so unexpectedly weighs heavy on him.   

The creak of the door announces someone coming in. Michael looks up. Clary – who is never a pleasant sight to Michael’s eyes, but right now, he’s actually almost grateful for the distraction from his gloomy train of thoughts – downright freezes at the sight of Michael leaning against the wall. Without a word, he sweeps past Michael as if fearful to break their established pattern of ignoring each other as best as they are able to.

Michael is pretty sure Tyler never has any doubts about the relationships in his life. Not about his girlfriend who is a surprisingly nice person – lively, humorous, a former swimmer – or that cute little sister of his who is also a swimmer and all night tried to look completely unimpressed by whomever Tyler introduced her to. 

No, Clary doesn’t wonder about things like that, Michael thinks as the object of his musings reappears, and it’s probably always been that way. Watching Clary soap his hands, Michael wonders not for the first time what it’s like to be that cocksure of oneself and of others. Then again, Tyler isn’t as invulnerable as he likes to think himself or as honest in his thoughts and beliefs – especially not when it comes to Michael himself if what Nathan, Megan and Jon keep insisting is true after all.  

That has to count for something, Michael thinks. He may or may not be able to inspire friendly feelings in others, he may or may not be a likable person, but here is the swimmer king of all douchebags nursing an inexplicable crush on him. This is someone who abhors him, Michael reminds himself, someone who actually prides himself on being able to see him for what he is when everybody else just buys into the Phelps hype.

Of course, he still has to hear it from Clary himself – on a nice cold day in hell, that is – but even as a mere idea planted in Michael’s head by other people, there’s an undertone of reluctant honesty to it that is strangely… flattering. Plus, it puts Mr Bluecollar Worker at the level of all the other mere mortals battling their unconscious. _I bet nobody’s ever even confronted you about that. What if I did?_

Lost in his thoughts, Michael almost misses Tyler meeting his gaze in the mirror before he turns around. Michael can see his adam’s apple move when he swallows as if summoning his bravery before he asks: “Was there something you… wanted?”

_And what if I reached over right now, grabbed your ugly grey shirt and pulled you close? Then what would you do?_


	4. Four

IV  

There is something about Michael without Lochte by his side that makes him vulnerable. 

As soon as the thought enters Tyler' head, he has to suppress a snort. Carol shoots him a funny look. They've lost Lindsey somewhere in the crowd after he'd introduced her to Missy and some of the other girls. Tyler just grins at his girlfriend and takes a sip from his glass. Carol shrugs and grabs his hand to drape his arm around her shoulder. She's used to his antics. 

Anyway, the last time he remembers someone calling Michael _vulnerable_ , he answered that by breaking two world records in as many days. Coincidentally, those were Tyler's first World Championships, so maybe that is why he remembers these happenings especially well. He was twenty years old and suffered a bit of a culture shock at the combined forces of Biedermann beating Michael in the 200 free, Cavic trash talking all week and Lauterstein calling Michael _that_. The idea that Michael could actually loose his throne was terrifying and exciting at the same time. Even then, Tyler understood that it first and foremost meant that other swimmers would finally be noticed, too.

Tyler himself won a silver in the 400 IM right behind Ryan, but the only comment of his that made it to the news back then was what he had to say about Michael's demeanor right before the 200 fly final. _Vulnerable, my ass._  

But this is different, Tyler thinks as he snaps himself out of it and closely looks back and forth between Michael in his corner and Ryan right at the center of things. Group dynamics are kind of weird tonight within the group with the two of them not interacting at all. Everybody's noticed by now, but people deal with it in very different ways. Some act as if nothing's the matter. Some as if they totally cannot figure out what's going on. And some seem to have a theory as to why this happens and why it's happening now.  

Number One and Number Two, light and darkness, image and reflection, Ryan’s vivacious energy and Michael’s quiet intensity. 

No one expected this to happen. 

Even Tyler who always wondered why the hell Ryan put up with Michael at all and believed he’d quietly rejoice if there were ever a rift between them, cannot explain what may have brought this about. At no point in time he counted on things to go wrong between Michael and his best friend. Not even in a wishful thinking kind of way. He did think from time to time that without Michael around, Ryan and he would be much closer than they are, but he never got his hopes up even when Michael retired. 

London is an obvious explanation for the rift. Michael wouldn't relinquish his hold on the crown to the very end although Ryan had planned things to go otherwise. This is the kind of things that may cause a serious conflict between friends and Lochte is only human after all. 

Being friends with a phenom cannot be easy by all means, Tyler muses. Even if Phelps weren’t what he’s actually like, most people would shy from being close to someone who is so outstanding in their own area of expertise. 99,9 percent of the people would succumb to jealousy and resentment sooner or later – it’s human nature. 

Everybody just always assumed that if anybody can shoulder this burden, it would be Ryan Lochte. 

The urban legend goes like this: Michael met Ryan during the Olympic Trials in 2004 and they became friends immediately. This was years before Tyler even appeared on the scene, so he only ever knew the two of them as friends. He met Michael first, so when he later got introduced to Ryan, he was baffled at what a cool and outgoing guy Michael's buddy is. Tyler had imagined someone who was more like Michael himself. But Ryan was - is actually the kind of person Tyler as well would enjoy hanging out with. 

Maybe now he'll have a chance to, Tyler finds himself thinking while they're taking pictures together. Michael keeping himself apart gives Tyler a very necessary break which he uses for catching up with his team mates. Many of them had shunned him earlier this summer for what he told the press about Michael, but a lot has happened since then. Ryan is as amicable to everyone as always and that includes Tyler. He seems much less affected than Michael by their recent fallout. 

Even though he is given neither the perseverance award nor the race of the year award, Tyler won't mind. It turned out a great evening. Lindsey and Carol are having fun, too. He wonders what he was so funked out about coming here. 

But fate is not so kind, it turns out.  

If he wanted a re-match of the explosive transformation they brought about in each other in Knoxville, Tyler couldn’t have picked a better place and time. Except that’s actually not what he wants. He is surprised to find Michael alone, hiding out in the bathroom like this… and at the same time, he absolutely isn't. When he comes out of the loo, Michael is still there, apparently lost in his thoughts and taking no notice of Tyler. Business as usual. This is bad, Lochte withdrawing his support, Tyler understands. The signs are there to see for someone who has known Michael for years, like Tyler has. 

It's the literal chink in the armor. For a moment, Tyler considers what he'd do if he were Lochte. If Michael and he were actually friends. What would it be like to reach out to him in a moment like this and try to find the right words to make him feel better. What it would feel like, the desire to comfort, to catch him as he's about to fall. 

_Lean on me._

Having finished washing his hands, Tyler looks up and freezes at the sight of Michael watching him from half-closed eyes. 

Of course, it's possible that Michael is just staring vacantly into space and his gaze came to rest on Tyler's reflection by chance. But Michael's is are roaming ever so slightly, resting on his face for a little while before gliding over his shoulders and upper body. For some reason, Tyler is convinced that Michael is actually thinking about him and not about Ryan, life in general or when to catch his flight back to the east coast.  

It's the strangest feeling imaginable and Tyler is overcome by the need to do something to break that weird spell.  “Was there something you… wanted?”

“You mean apart from that apology you still owe me?”

It's like a cold shower when he's not expecting it. Tyler throws his head back in irritation. Unbelievable that for a moment - even though only theoretically - he was actually imagining reaching out to Michael. 

There is something about Michael's weakness that draws Tyler in. He noticed that in London already, how he found himself captured by that display of fragility. But Tyler might have been mistaken. Just like Cavic and Lauterstein were in Rome. Because even now, weary and with his heart presumably heavy from all that's going on with Ryan, Michael still has the ability to catch Tyler off guard like this. 

"I owe you shit, Phelps," Tyler spits out, angry and slightly shocked at how he reacted when presented face to face with that vulnerability he's been fascinated with from afar. That he would for a second just forget every stunt Michael ever pulled with him, every slight, every humiliation he's ever suffered, is disturbing to say the least.  

Tyler was nineteen when they met for the first time – at that age, Michael was already a six-time Olympic Champion and held the world record in several individual events. In no way, Tyler could ever hope to catch up with that. And that’s the way it went for the last five years and how it’s going to be in the foreseeable future: no matter what Tyler will achieve in years to come, Michael will already have been there before.

It's sour grapes when Tyler speaks of his blue-collar approach to swimming: he has no choice in the matter but to content himself with what he can get done - and try not to compare it to what Michael has pulled off.  

As a swimmer, Michael will forever be remembered as the greatest thing since bread came sliced. 

But as a person he's failed so far and probably will continue to fail for the rest of his life. Now that swimming's over and done with, Tyler would be shocked if Michael ever got around to doing something with his life besides partying. He fucked up his status as a role-model by drunk driving and having his picture taken smoking pot. He never had a relationship that actually deserved to be called one and with that blonde wannabe model he's currently seeing it will be no different. He doesn't even have a college degree. 

And his presumed best friend not speaking to him anymore just confirms what he is: a loser with whom nobody wants to hang out. 

Said loser watches from slightly amused eyes. "Right. That's probably why you start walking with you tail between your legs as soon as I show up somewhere."

Fury rises like a darting flame, effectively forcing Tyler to abandon any composure he had left. How dare he. "Like anyone wants to be where you show up, you ever thought of that? Lochte's finally gotten around, too, hasn't he?"

Michael stares at him as if he really can’t figure out what’s gotten into Tyler. “Are you drunk?” he inquires deceptively softly. “Or what gives you the idea I’m interested in your opinion about Ryan and me?”

"Yeah, when it's unpleasant you're just not interested, I know," Tyler sneers.

Michael looks at him with disgust. "You wouldn't know your dick from a hole in the ground. Before you fuck off, I'll tell you something about Ryan. Something you'd know if you'd made it to Beijing four years ago."

Tyler narrows his eyes. Beijing is still a sore spot, even after all this time. But Michael doesn't pay attention at all. 

"You probably know that Ryan got himself a stomach bug before competitions even started." 

Tyler idly wonders why he's even listening to this for it can only end in Michael making a point Tyler doesn't care for hearing. Maybe it's the rare chance to gain an insight into what the '08 Olympics were like. Or an insight to what they were like for Michael.

"I stayed clear of the room I was supposed to share with him. Practically never went in there all the time he was sick."

Tyler grimaces. "Sounds just like you."

"Right. I couldn't take the risk with what was at stake. The others were giving me funny looks, but Ryan never said anything about that, he never criticized me. And later, when it was over -" 

Anger aside, Tyler can't help but marvel at the laconic way in which Michael refers to his historical gold medal record. 

"- he came to me at once to congratulate, shouting at the top of his lungs. He never as much as said a word about how shitty I'd behaved." Michael takes a small step towards him, gaze not wavering. “That’s friendship, Clary, not posing in front of a camera. But I’m sure you already knew that – you must have made one or two friends in your life.”

This must be the most acid thing Michael’s ever said to him, Tyler ponders - and it leaves him downright indifferent. He knows that for once he got to Michael more than the other way around. After all, what else could be the reason for Michael to give enough time and attention to deliver a fucking speech to him?


End file.
